


Pequeñas Historias de Amor

by Cambetaut



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10055927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cambetaut/pseuds/Cambetaut
Summary: A collection of Faraquez one-shotsChapter 9: Faraday does some thinking (post canon, everybody lives-nobody dies)





	1. Stuck in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> I moved the little index here because I didn't want it to get super long in the summary part:
> 
> 1\. They get stuck in the rain - modern au  
> 2\. jealous!Faraday  
> 3\. Joshua likes to take pictures - modern au  
> 4\. Vasquez tries to leave  
> 5\. They have an argument - modern au  
> 6\. College au  
> 7\. Vasquez gets hurt  
> 8\. Vas and his necklace  
> 9\. Faraday does some thinking
> 
>  
> 
> Anytime Vasquez has a first name it'll just be Manuel, because it's easier than coming up with my own, and I like that name anyway. 
> 
> [my tumblr](http://cambetaut.tumblr.com) (I'm always up for a prompt... just sayin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faraday manages to get them stuck in the rain (modern au, established relationship)

“I cannot believe you forgot the keys,” Manuel narrows his eyes at Joshua.

“Why is it my fault?” He indignantly demands.

“You said you had them!” 

“Well, you shouldn’t have believed me!” 

“Honestamente, güero.” The Mexican lets out an irritated huff, flinging his hands up in defeat before crossing them over his chest and looking away. 

It could easily be argued that this is entirely Joshua’s fault, because really it is, and he knows that. If he just had the sense to check that he actually had the keys before he locked their vehicle they wouldn’t be in this mess at all, but it was too late for that now.

The tiny porch they're standing under does nothing to keep the rain from drenching them both, because the wind pushes it underneath as if the meager bit of shelter isn’t even there at all; by the time Sam gets here with his own key they’re sure to be thoroughly soaked, although they might be already. If this had only happened a few days ago there would be a spare under the mat at his feet, but that’s been lost to god knows where, which might also be his fault.

Joshua watches Vasquez resolutely looking off in the distance, radiating waves of annoyance; it reminds him of a pissed off cat that’s been left out in the rain, and he can't help but quietly giggle to himself at the thought, although the sound comes out louder than he’d like. 

“What?!” Vasquez insists.

“I love you,” Faraday says in a light, hopeful voice as if that might make it all better. He moves in front of his boyfriend, resting his hands on Manuel’s hips and leaning in to press a kiss to his neck, lightly trailing a few more up the column of exposed skin.

He receives a grunt that could be considered pleased as he continues, trying not to let another laugh escape his lips; and Manuel says he’s the impossible one. 

“I am sorry,” He murmurs as sincerely as he can in the man’s ear, before pressing a kiss beneath it. 

He takes his time making his way towards lips, and only pauses when the Mexican lets out a sigh and puts his own arms around Joshua, obviously having given up pouting. It never takes long to get through to him, kisses placed just right always do the trick, if it isn’t something serious, which this really isn’t. The rain is still pouring, although it’s not harsh, it falls in sheets that feel more like a gentle shower than the biting sting of a brutal storm. It’s not even cold, because so far it’s been a rather warm spring, and as much as Manuel would like to huff and cross his arms and pretend it’s a big deal they both know he’s just being dramatic about it. 

While he knows boyfriend probably won’t be entirely fond of the idea, he’s always wanted to kiss in the rain like they’re in a clichéd love story, and since they are already soaked it’s not like it would make much of a difference now. He pulls Manuel out from under the porch and into the pouring rain, and doesn’t receive any protest, which is just as good as a verbal agreement, in his opinion. 

He turns to his boyfriend as soon as they’re fully exposed to the downpour, running his hands through wet hair as he connects their mouths. It’s a slow slide of lips and tongue and rain running down their faces in rivulets, a languid trail of hands over sodden clothes that cling to their bodies, and if he had known this would happen he might have insisted his boyfriend wear that white shirt instead of the dark one he has on now. There’s something about kissing like this that makes his stomach flutter, because they’ve never had the opportunity to do it before; Manuel hates any weather that isn’t warm sunshine.

As hands travel over his own body, the other man makes a noise in the back of his throat, fumbling at Joshua’s pocket, before he disconnects their lips and focuses all of his attention on whatever his fingers are trying to wriggle from the soaked material. Joshua’s not sure what’s going on, caught in a haze of arousal mixed with the sensation of rain, until he sees keys in his boyfriend’s hand, the keys he thought he had accidentally locked in their vehicle. 

He’s given the most unamused glare he thinks he’s ever received, and is again reminded of the soaked cat thought from a few moments ago. He can’t do much more than shrug and offer his brightest and most sincere smile, but only receives a light smack to the back of his head and some mumbled Spanish that he doesn’t catch before the man trudges away towards the door, obviously not willing to spend another second in the rain now that he doesn’t have to.

“I really thought I forgot them!” He insists as he follows his boyfriend, unable to keep from laughing at the absurdity of it all, which really was entirely his fault, but kisses in the rain are well worth the grief he’s going to get over losing the keys in his own damn pocket.


	2. My Mexican

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faraday gets jealous (post canon, established relationship, some very light period typical racism and homophobia)

He isn’t quite sure when or why, but at some point that evening Faraday’s mood had soured considerably, cumulating in the man practically sulking in a corner as he waits for Vasquez to return with their drinks. He reminds the Mexican of a child pouting over a toy they were told they couldn’t have, and he chuckles to himself at the thought. Faraday does have a tendency to act like a child more often than not, and now is certainly not the exception, but he can’t, for the life of him, understand why the man’s acting like this. 

The Irishman had seemed excited when they entered the town just two hours ago, so whatever had caused the shift in his mood had to have happened between then and now, but even as he wracks his brain for the reason behind his companion’s grumpiness he can’t find anything that stands out. They’d left their horses with a man that seemed entirely respectable, not the kind that might try to sell them out from under you while you weren’t looking. Nobody had thrown any racially charged words at either of them as they approached the saloon, unlike some towns that had a deep seated hatred for both the Irish and Mexicans for some reason Vasquez still couldn’t quite fathom. Everyone in the saloon had been either kind or indifferent, not a single one reaching apprehensively for their guns when they’d entered; really, it’s been one of their better experiences in a new town, so he just can’t understand why Joshua is sulking instead of playing cards like he had been prattling on about for days before they'd reached this settlement. 

The woman behind the bar finally hands him his order, offering him a charming smile as she leans over the counter, her breasts threatening to spill out of her dress if she goes much further. He politely nods in thanks and heads over to Faraday, who has his arms crossed over his chest, brow furrowed and mouth drawn down in a frown. So it had gotten worse in the little bit he’s been gone… but nothing had happened? The gambler has been sitting by himself avoiding the rest of the saloon's patrons, and Vasquez had only been at the bar for a few moments. What the hell is up with the güero today?

Joshua grabs his drink the moment it’s offered to him, emerald gaze focused on the Mexican as he takes a slow sip. It’s like being watched by a predator, and Vasquez can’t stand more than a half a minute of the silence between them before he’s had enough of this crap.

“What?” The word may come out a little harsher than he had intended, but the Irishman doesn’t seem the least bit fazed by his tone.

Faraday still just sits there across from him, and after a few moments his lips move, but the words that come out are too quiet to be heard over the sounds of the saloon around them, and Vasquez can’t help but roll his eyes. He had thought they could have a pleasant evening in a town, actually sleep in a real bed for once, and just enjoy the first settlement they’ve been to in weeks, but apparently the Irishman plans to just ruin it all by being grumpy the whole time.

“Güerito, you know I didn’t hear that,” He sighs.

It takes a few heartbeats for Faraday to talk again, but when he does it’s loud enough to actually hear this time, thankfully. “She’s been flirting with you all night.”

“Who?” Vasquez incredulously questions.

“The bartender,” He sullenly mumbles.

“What? No she hasn’t.”

“Yes she has… Look, she’s watching you now,” Faraday indicates her across the room with a tilt of his chin.

Vasquez looks over his shoulder, and indeed her gaze focused on him. He receives a wave and a bright smile as their eyes connect for the briefest of seconds. For fuck’s sake, this is what he’s been pouting over? 

“What, you jealous?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Faraday mumbles something too quiet to hear, recrossing his arms over his chest and looking away; there’s a blush painting his cheeks, and it’s absolutely adorable. The Irishman has been in a mood because some woman had been flirting with him, and Vasquez hadn’t even taken notice, really it’s just silly, but at least there’s an easy way to fix it. 

For priding himself on being the least impulsive of the two, he decides to just go with the first thought that runs through his head, consequences be damned. Vasquez reaches across the small table, fingers finding their hold in Faraday’s bandana, and pulls the Irishman in for a kiss. The other man makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat, but melts into the embrace immediately, one hand moving along Vasquez’s cheek to rest at the back of his neck.

Vasquez has never been very good at expressing his emotions in English, it always ends up coming out in his native tongue, so he’s learned to just try to show the other man how he feels instead of fumbling through the words, and he hopes this kiss does an adequate enough job.

They don’t stay connected for long, and when they part his hands are already reaching for his guns, because the silence in the room around them tells him the other patrons have just taken witness to their kiss, and while the people may not be as racist as others they’ve encountered, he doubts they’ll be allowed to stay in town after that little display. Faraday seems to be thinking similarly, Ethel already gleaming fiercely in his hand. The smirk painting his lips is incorrigible, his green eyes sparkling mischievously, and it’s apparent that he’s feeling much better now that that’s all settled. 

They make their way out of the saloon without any complications, which is probably due to their drawn weapons. Faraday makes sure to down what’s left of both their drinks, saying something about not wasting good alcohol, and once they’re clear of the building they run to the stables to find their horses. He can hear Faraday’s laugh ring out beside him as they race down the street, and can’t help but chuckle along.

When they stop at the building they connect again, their tongues hungrily exploring each other’s mouths until they have to stop to catch their breath, resting their foreheads together as they take in gulps of fresh air

“Te amo, tu idiota,” He breathes out, the grin on Faraday’s face widening.

“You’re my Mexican, dammit.” He presses kisses to Vasquez’s face, along his cheeks, a few to his lips, some trailing down his neck. 

“Sí, todo toyo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> Te amo, tu idiota - I love you, you idiot  
> Sí, todo toyo - Yes, all yours
> 
> Comments are always appreciated <3


	3. Little Everyday Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faraday likes to take pictures (modern au, established relationship) ...ik that sounds really dirty but I promise it isn't

The first time he notices Joshua’s phone pointed at him, in a manner that indicates he may be taking a picture, Manuel thinks nothing of it, just assuming the Irishman is taking a selfie or something to that affect. He doesn’t really think about it for the rest of the week, until he catches the man doing it again, and again. The fourth time he takes notice to the way Joshua’s phone is trained on him he almost says something, but thinks better of it.

Instead he decides to sneak a peek at his boyfriend’s phone when he’s sleeping, which is really a cowardly way to go about it, but he doesn’t want to ask outright, and the Irishman’s never had an issue with letting Vasquez have his phone, so it’s not like he’s overstepping any boundaries; really he’s mostly just trying to justify his actions to himself, because he feels guilty about reaching over Joshua’s sleeping form to pluck the man’s phone from the nightstand. 

He’s careful about it, trying to ensure he doesn’t wake the Irishman beside him, although Faraday isn’t exactly the lightest of sleepers, so it’s not like he has too much to worry about, really his biggest concern should be getting whacked in the face by a flailing limb, which has happened on numerous occasions, and even gave him a bloody nose once, which Joshua at least had the decency to feel sorry about, going so far as to make him breakfast that morning as an apology. 

Manuel opens the lock screen, finding the usual picture of the two of them staring up at him. Faraday's making an obnoxious face at the camera, and Manuel is pressing a kiss to his cheek, the edge of the Mexican’s mouth curled into an amused smile. He can clearly remember when it was taken; Joshua had somehow managed to get himself into a selfie war with Emma, so Faraday spent most of that weekend trying to make the weirdest faces he could to send to the woman in question. In the end she just gave up, because Faraday refused to quit. Manuel had been lounging on the couch with his boyfriend, only halfheartedly paying attention to the book in his hands. On a whim he decided to lean in and kiss Joshua while he was taking one of the pictures, somehow managing to time it just right that he not only ended up in the picture, but it happened turned out perfectly clear, not even the slightest bit of it blurry. You can see surprise registering on Joshua’s face, his eyes starting to widen, one corner of his lips just beginning to curve up into a slight smile, even with the outrageous shape of his mouth. 

Manuel goes to the photos when he's done admiring the picture on the home screen, not entirely sure what he might find, and sucks in a surprised breath when he sees hundreds of pictures of… himself. He clicks on one to enlarge it, finding a frozen moment which looks like a well thought out piece of art; he’s looking out a window, coffee in his hand, his hair a mussed dark mess, early morning light playing across his face, it’s really beautiful, breathtaking even. 

He swipes to see the next one, and finds the dark outline of himself sitting on the edge of their bed, the only light seeping in through the closed curtains. The heels of his palms are digging into his eyes, rubbing the sleep from then. He looks like he’s only just gotten up, or maybe had a long day, and it could easily be a tossup between the two. 

Vasquez looks at the following one, and the one after, and the next; they’re all of him. As he goes through he finds a few scattered here and there of Joshua or their dog, but mostly it’s just Manuel. He’s frozen staring pensively at something in the distance, lounging in various places reading a book, asleep at their desk, cooking without a shirt on, interacting with their friends, driving, peacefully asleep in their bed. 

One that particularly catches his eye is a silhouette, where he’s just thrown a ball in the air for their dog to catch. The sun behind him has turned him into nothing more than a dark outline, as he’s suspended in motion, a tennis ball soaring through the air as the dog waits patiently to attack it. 

There are a hundred little everyday moments, all captured without his knowledge, that go back months. It’s somewhat baffling to think that all this time the man’s been snapping pictures of him and he didn’t even notice, although it could be argued that his skill with sleight of hand is probably rather helpful in that regard. 

Manuel continues to go through them, curious to see when they start, and is taken all the way back to the first time they met, when Sam had introduced them at a bar and conveniently found an excuse to leave early. He finds a slightly younger version of himself looking over at the band playing to the side, caught in the middle of laughing. If he looks closely he can see the light flush on his cheeks, the way he’s gripping the beer in his hand maybe a little too tight. 

He isn’t sure if there are thousands of deleted ones that he’s never seen, ones that turned out blurry or looked funny, or if Joshua is just inherently good at taking a great photo, but is looks more like a professional photographer's work than someone just deciding in the moment to take a picture. It nearly takes his breath away to think that Joshua takes the time to snap so many pictures of him, to love a moment so much that he wants to capture it forever.

Manuel glances over at the man sleeping beside him, who is snoring lightly, his mouth hanging open and his hair a horrid mess. The Mexican chuckles to himself, smiling fondly down at Joshua, before reaching over him to place the phone back on the stand. He settles himself back on the bed once he's done, snuggling closer to his boyfriend, who wakes up just enough to wrap an arm around Manuel and stuff his head in the crook of the Mexican’s neck. 

“Te amo, Joshua.” He presses a kiss to the man’s hair, pulling him closer.

“Amo too te something…” he hears the muffled sound mumbled against his skin, and chuckles softly, before letting out a contented sigh.


	4. Don't Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vasquez tries to leave (post-canon, everybody lives-nobody dies, sort of established relationship? established sleeping together? idfk something along those lines)

“Are we gonna go with them?” Faraday asks. Sam asked both of them earlier, saying that they could have time to think about it if they weren't sure, and they haven't breathed a word about it to each other since. The Irishman was hoping Vasquez would bring it up so he wouldn't have to stumble his way through asking if they would stay together, but he's tired of waiting, and in the end just figures fuck it and asks outright. 

Vasquez seems to think for a moment, looking off at nothing in particular as he takes another drag of his cigar, “I don’t know.”

“It would be safer,” He offers. “For you, I mean. More intimidatin’ to bounty hunters when there’re six other men with you.”

Vasquez snorts at that, a soft disbelieving sound that sets something in Faraday on edge.

 

If anyone asked, Faraday would deny waiting in the livery stable all night just to be there when the Mexican attempts to flee, would probably say that he only happened to be passing by, but the truth of it is that he has been there all night, lounging against a beam or sitting on a bench and playing with his cards to keep himself occupied. Faraday’s skipped out on enough people in enough places to know that Vasquez would try to leave sometime that night or early morning, and it seems he decided to wait until morning, because it can’t be more than a few hours off by now. Not that he can say he’s known Vasquez long enough to predict what the man will do, but it was the way he brushed off the question earlier that made realization stir in Faraday's chest. His suspicions were practically confirmed when the other man suggested they sleep in their own rooms for the night, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try to get the man to wait until they can all ride out together. 

The sun hasn’t even thought about peeking over the mountains in the distance when Vasquez appears. He doesn’t seem to notice Faraday, which might be good, because the Irishman is curious to see how far the Mexican will get with his plan to sneak off in the night. 

He's had all night to ponder over Vasquez's reluctance to stay with their rag-tag band of friends, and he's come to the conclusion that the Mexican's attempt to flee probably has something to do with putting the rest of them in danger; Vasquez is funny like that, a real noble guy, for having a huge bounty on his head for murder, and it makes Faraday wonder sometimes if the ranger really did have it coming, like the Mexican is wont to say when asked about the matter. 

Somewhere deep in his chest he feels a little hurt that Vasquez didn’t even bother to say goodbye, not that their nightly escapades had come with any sort of agreement about the future, and he'll go to his grave denying that he may be falling for the man, if he hasn't already, but you would think a man could have the courtesy to at least say farewell after you nearly blow yourself up trying to save his ass from being torn to pieces by a damn gatling gun. Although to be fair, if the Mexican had told him about his plan to take off Faraday would have insisted on going along, or tried to convince the man to stay, so he can understand why Vasquez didn’t bother with any sort of heartfelt goodbyes. 

Vasquez takes his time about tacking his horse, running his hands over her white fur lovingly and murmuring to her in his native tongue; it’s almost like he’s stalling in the hopes that somebody will stop him from making this mistake. Faraday just watches silently from the shadows, until the man is just about to lead his horse out of the stable. 

“Now, I’m deeply hurt that you didn’t bother to say goodbye,” He finally says, stepping out of the shadows and into the low light of the only lamp in the stable. 

Vasquez doesn’t even flinch at the sudden announcement of his presence, just glancing over as Faraday comes to stop a few steps away, his dark eyes trained on the Irishman.

“It’s almost like you don’t care about me at all,” Faraday sighs dramatically, feigned hurt tinging his words, although it could be argued that that’s just the true hurt bleeding out of him.

“Why must you do this?” 

“You know why.” 

“I’m leaving, you’re not going to change my mind,” Vasquez insists. 

“I wasn't trying to.” Faraday holds his hands up in mock surrender, although there's a good chance they both know that's a lie. 

“Bueno.”

“Good.” 

They stand there, in the silence of the stable, the soft snorts of horses the only sounds around them, watching each other carefully. Long moments pass, the unspoken words between them threatening to suffocate him, before Vasquez seems to make up his mind, and begins to lead his horse out.

“I’ll miss you, you know,” Faraday calls out to him, after he’s taken a few long strides towards the door, watching as the Mexican stops mid-step, not moving forward, but not looking back either. “The others will too, but I’ll miss you more,” He takes a step towards the man, being slow about it, like he's almost afraid if he moves too fast Vasquez will spook like a frightened animal. “Miss sleeping with you, for sure,” He breathes a laugh to himself, taking another step towards the man. “Miss your voice. Your laugh.” He’s almost there, a step or two away from Vasquez when the man finally speaks.

“Joshua…” There’s an exasperated edge to his name as it rolls off that Mexican tongue. 

“I thought we agreed you could only call me that in bed?” 

“Joshua,” Vasquez threatens, his voice a little darker. 

“Love hearin’ you say my name,” He breaths the words on the back of the other man’s neck, hovering just above his tan skin. It’s a little mean perhaps, because he knows just what that does to Vasquez, how much he likes it, and it’s easy to see how he tries to suppress the shiver it sends tingling up his spine. “Come on, say it again.”

“Joshua,” He repeats, and this time it’s more of a plea, a desperate call, although Faraday isn’t sure if it’s meant to tell him to stop or keep going.

He doesn’t have to guess though, because the Mexican turns to face him, and they look into each other’s eyes for a split second before they connect, a desperate slide of tongues and a little too much teeth as they kiss. Vasquez’s hands come up to rest at his hips, the reins of his horse sliding from his fingers as he holds onto Faraday like his life depends on this contact. 

They run their hands over each other with urgency as their mouths move together, pulling at the fabric covering each other’s bodies, but not yet trying to discard any of it, more like trying to anchor themselves. 

When they break away from their kiss Faraday begins mouthing his way down the man’s neck, sucking marks into his skin, as if to say that the man belongs to him, and the world should know it. “Don’t go,” He murmurs before he goes to suck on a new spot, and hands that were holding him close like a lifeline move to push him away.

“No. Stop, I have to go,” Vasquez insists. Faraday pauses, looking up at him, searching the man’s eyes, little windows into his soul that show the raw emotion in him. Vasquez is just about to turn away when Joshua asks the question that’s been burning in his mind all night. 

“Why?” The word seems to echo around them, possibly because it came out a little louder than he had intended, and the conflict on the face of the man before him is enough to make his chest ache.

“I have to.” 

“What do you mean, you ‘have to?’ Nobody wants you to go… I don’t want you to go. So why is it you insist on leavin’?”

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me. I can’t be responsible for more than myself, I…” He trails off, like he’s searching for the right words. 

“You don’t have to be responsible for anyone else. We’re all grown men, we can take care of ourselves; we just want you along for the ride.”

“But what if-“

“Oh to hell with all that, Vas, you know you don’t want to leave. You know I don’t want you to leave… I’ll get on my knees and beg if that makes any difference.” He jokes with a grin. 

“Sí, that would help.” Vasquez smiles, a small pathetic thing that isn’t anywhere near as bright as the usual grin that splits his face. 

With an dramatic sigh Faraday sinks to his knees, looking up at the Mexican, and going so far as to bring his hands together in front of him, in a mock of a prayer, “Please don’t leave?” his voice light and his eyes wide, something akin to the pleading look of a dog. 

Vasquez grins down at him, shaking his head in disbelief.

The smile on Faraday's own face falters, as he lets the weight of the uncertainty in his chest pool into his words, “I mean it, I don’t want you to leave. I can’t stand the thought of some bounty hunter gettin’ the drop on you… Vas, please don’t go.” 

He can visibly see Vasquez's resolve breaking, and the man sinks to the ground in front of him, as if the last vestiges of his stubborn determination to leave have finally gone, and there’s nothing left to keep him standing.

They hold onto each other like they aren’t sure they can survive alone, and maybe they can’t anymore. Healing after the battle brought them all closer together, but it especially strengthened whatever this is between them.

Here, in the soft glow of one lonesome lamp and the quiet noises of horses around them, Faraday thinks he doesn’t have to say anything aloud for the other man to understand. He’s scared, if he’s being honest with himself, and he knows Vasquez is too. They’re two men that have learned to live on their own, through choice or necessity or maybe a mix of both, and now it seems that they’re both unsure of how it’ll play out to have a family again, to have people that care about what happens to them.

“You promise you won’t leave?” He asks, his voice nothing more than a whisper, because he has to hear it from those lips, because it might break his heart to wake to find the man gone one morning. 

Vasquez lets go just enough that they can look each other in the eye, before responding, “Sí, lo prometo.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.” He presses his lips against the Mexican’s, in a soft promise to stay together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Bueno - Good  
> Sí, lo prometo - Yes, I promise
> 
> I do have to say, I was reading Hazel_Athena's amazing fic [ Got Your Back, Jack ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812702) when I thought of this, so I guess what I'm trying to say is that if you haven't read it you should, and also that Hazel is amazing and inspires me. 
> 
> Anyway, comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading <3


	5. Some Damn Soap Opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have an argument, which Sam finds amusing (modern au, established relationship)
> 
> This chapter is for Fantasysci5, who is amazing btw, and if you haven't read [ their fic ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10119497) you should, because it's awesome.

It was just supposed to be a nice cookout, a relaxing evening with friends to catch up and spend time together, not that the group of friends don’t see each other almost every day, but the point is, it was supposed to be peaceful, not some damn soap opera.

“Oh come on, I already told ya I’m sorry,” Faraday pleads, for probably the tenth time in half a minute. 

Okay, so it might be a slight exaggeration to liken their evening to a soap opera, but the Irishman’s been following Vasquez around the yard like a lost puppy for a good ten minutes now. Sam huffs out a chuckle when he thinks of Faraday as a bumbling little bundle of fur, and doesn’t miss the questioning glance Red shoots his way. 

The argument between Faraday and Vasquez began sometime before they arrived at Sam’s place, so he has no idea what it’s about, and he’s curious as to what exactly it was Faraday’s managed to do this time to piss off his boyfriend. The two frequently have little spats, so it’s certainly not a rarity to see them engaged in some sort of disagreement for an hour or so, but this has to be the longest Vasquez has ever straight up ignored Faraday, and he doesn’t seem to have any ideas about acknowledging the man in the near future. 

When they arrived there was an icy silence between them, an hour or two where they were both content to talk to other people and be on opposite sides of Sam’s backyard, but as Faraday’s drinking progressed, he started to migrate towards wherever the Mexican was, still keeping a bit of distance between them, but obviously hoping their fighting would come to an end soon. Vasquez had noticed, of course, his boyfriend wasn’t exactly being subtle about it, but then again, nothing is all that subtle about Faraday when he’s drunk. 

The Mexican had started moving around more after that, finding reasons to walk across the yard and obviously just trying to put some distance between them. Sam believes that might have been a mistake, because it evolved into the two practically going around in circles, Vasquez constantly storming off to a new part of the yard and Faraday following almost right behind him. 

It is funny though, as annoying as it's getting to hear Faraday constantly whining about how sorry he is. From the spot Sam regularly occupies when they all get together at his place he can clearly see everything in the yard, which is probably why Red came to lounge in a chair beside him, clearly happy to watch the drama play out from the best view possible. 

“Manuel,” Faraday draws out the name, long and petulant, like a three year old, a very drunk three year old. 

The man in question finally turns around, acknowledging his partner for the first time that evening. He opens his mouth, about to say something, but seems to think better of it and just firmly states, “No,” before turning around and marching off to a new corner of the yard. 

“I am sorry, really.” 

“No.” Vasquez doesn’t turn around this time, just trudging off in the general direction of Goodnight, Billy, and Horne. 

“I don’t know why you don’t just give in,” Sam states, taking a slow sip of his beer as Manuel passes by him, Faraday right on his heels. 

Vasquez levels Chisolm with something that could probably be considered a death glare, but it just makes the black man chuckle. He is really happy he introduced these two, they have certainly been the entertaining on quite a few occasions.

“See, even Sam thinks you’re being ridiculous.” Faraday points out.

“No, I think you’re ridiculous,” Sam clarifies, watching with glee as Faraday throws him an affronted look. 

Vasquez whirls around suddenly, nearly causing the man on his heels to run into him. “Dios Mío, güero. What will it take to shut you up?” 

“You acceptin’ my apology.” Faraday shoves his hands in his front pockets, rolling back on his heels and adding after a moment, “And a hug.” The Irishman whispers whatever he says next, low enough that Sam can’t hear a word of it, and whatever it is must finally be enough, because Vasquez stares at Faraday thoughtfully for the whole of a second before sighing and opening his arms.

Faraday’s face lights up, and he swoops in for a hug, encompassing the Mexican in his arms. He goes in with such intensity though that he nearly knocks them both over in the process. It’s only Horne, standing almost directly behind Vasquez, that keeps the pair from falling to the grass. 

The older man seems to take it as an invitation to join the hug, wrapping his bear-like arms around the both of them, practically beaming. It doesn’t even take another second for Goodnight to smile over at Billy, a soft pleading look that the Korean has never once been able to refuse, even if he would never admit it. Billy makes a show of wrinkling his nose and rolling his eyes, but when Goody drags him into the hug he doesn’t resist. 

“Come on,” Sam tells Red beside him, nodding towards the others. 

“Oh, no. No, I’m fine right-“ 

Sam doesn’t give him time to finish his sentence, dragging the man in as well, because really, who doesn’t like a group hug?

They’re a huddle of men, in varying stages of drunkenness, most of them smiling at each other, except Billy, but even he seems to be happy, in his own way.

Faraday can be heard giggling somewhere towards the center of the hug, before commenting, “This is such a sausage fest.”

Goodnight shoots him an unamused glance, “Now did you have to go and ruin the moment?”

“Hey, I didn’t say I don’t like it,” Faraday smirks, waggling his eyebrows in that way of his. 

Almost everyone voices their disgust, backing away from the hug in the next few seconds. Only Vasquez remains, shaking his head in disbelief, but he’s fondly smiling down at his boyfriend. Sam makes sure to look away before he has to take witness to some very disgusting kissing that’s long overdue for those idiots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated, as always. 
> 
> Fantasy, I hope it lived up to your expectations! <3


	6. College au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow shitty title, anyway a lovely anon on Tumblr asked for a college au, and this is my shitty attempt at it. (even more established relationship)

The apartment is mostly like Emma expected it would be: bland, lacking any sort of style or even color, but it had been one of their few options, so it’s not like she’s going to complain about it. Red and Teddy threw their bags to the floor the minute they got through the door, eager to start searching the place, but she isn’t quite as interested in taking a look around, it’ll just be some similarly bland rooms; not exactly something to be excited over. 

Above her she can hear another apartment’s occupants, engaged in what sounds like a rather heated argument, although the sound is just muffled enough that she can’t quite catch what the people are saying, which might be a good thing, because it doesn’t exactly sound pleasant. There are intermittent thuds that sound above her head, which could be anything from stomping to slamming doors, she can’t exactly tell.

The three of them haven’t been in the apartment for more than ten minutes when there’s a sound that might be a knock at the door, although she isn’t quite sure considering all the sounds that have been coming from above them. Red had mentioned that a grad student friend of his would drop by at some point to say hi and see that they got settled and everything, so when there’s another similar sound she assumes it must be coming from their door, not the apartment above. She waits a moment before she moves to answer it, hoping that Red might come back to deal with it so she doesn’t have to, but when another knock sounds it’s obvious that she’ll have to go open the damn door herself. 

She sighs as she turns the knob and pulls it towards her, revealing a man standing there in the hallway, his hand curled into a fist and poised to knock again, but when he notices that the door has finally been opened he offers his hand and flashes brilliantly white smile that contrasts with the dark color of his skin. 

“I’m Sam,” He immediately introduces himself, a smile still gracing his lips, although she catches him peering past her into the apartment, and assumes the boys have finally materialized behind her. 

“Emma,” She takes his hand, shaking it firmly before stepping to the side to let him past. 

It seems Sam hasn’t come alone, because there are two men lounging against a wall just behind him, and the closest one saunters over, a lazy grin on his face. He’s small, for a man, slight and probably not more than an inch taller than she is herself, if she isn’t in fact taller than him.

There’s a particularly loud bout of yelling above her just as the man opens his mouth, but he doesn't seem particularly phased by it. 

“Don’t mind them, it’ll stop soon enough. Goodnight’s my name, and this is Billy,” His voice is thick with a southern drawl, and he offers a polite tip of a hat he isn’t wearing and motions towards the third man, who hasn’t bothered to move yet, and only gives her a slight nod, which she returns.

“Does this happen often?” She motions absently in the air, indicating the ruckus above their heads. 

Goodnight looks over to his friend, as if Billy’s stony expression will offer some kind of insight, and then the southerner turns back to Emma, only responding with a shrug and what could be classified as an apologetic expression on his face as he nods the affirmative. 

Behind her she can hear Red talking with Sam, who mentions something about yet another man, who couldn’t make it, and the pair arguing above their heads, who were apparently supposed to be along for the little welcome party. 

There’s another thump above them, louder than any before, and as much as she’d like to deny it, she does visibly cringe at the volume of the noise. She finds herself absently hoping that whatever it was didn’t manage to land on someone. A minute or so goes by, as Red and Teddy talk to the older men, and she notices the distinct lack of noise above them, possibly the quietest it's been since they've been there. 

“Should we maybe go check on them?” She asks a bit apprehensively, looking up at the ceiling, as if it might offer her some insight into the situation one floor up. 

Sam just waves her off, “Nah, I’m sure they’re fine. Besides, the place is a mess, looks like a damn tornado ripped through it.”

“Actually, we should probably go…” Goodnight looks over to Sam, trailing off as the two share a knowing look. 

“Why?” Teddy asks, looking between the two.

Goodnight is just about to open his mouth when a horrendously loud moan sounds above them, which could possibly be a name, although it’s hard to make out exactly. Emma has a feeling she might need to buy a nice pair of noise canceling headphones, or she won’t last the year without killing someone. 

 

————

 

The best thing about arguing over trivial matters is that they usually have sex afterwards, to release the tension and convey that they’re both sorry and are just too stubborn to say it aloud. This time was certainly no exception, although he could have done without knocking over a lamp in their haste to remove their clothes, because there’s a good chance that it’s broken now. 

Vasquez is still a glowing god of post-coital bliss beneath him, pleasured into a soft, pleased smile, which Faraday truly prides himself on, because that was all his handiwork, and it looks mighty fine if he does say so himself. They should probably collect their clothes from where they’ve been scattered around the room, but right now he’s too busy admiring his view. Sam had mentioned something about welcoming some freshmen into the apartment below theirs, but that was supposed to take place at least half an hour ago, and it’s not like they won’t see the people again; they will be living just one floor down. 

He decides to worry about it later, and lays his head down on the Mexican’s chest, skimming his hands over his boyfriend’s bare stomach, tracing his fingers through the trail of hair that fans out as it goes down. He can definitely see a round two in their immediate future, although this time he’d like to actually make it to the bed; the couch isn’t really big enough for the two of them, and he feels like he’s about to fall off the damn thing.


	7. Whatever You Say, Hombre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vasquez gets hurt (even more established relationship, post canon, with some ableism and a teeny bit of racism)

His fist connects with flesh, the crack it makes resounding around them. There’s a collective intake of breath from the other men, before the scene erupts into a flurry of fists, each of them trying to get a hit in before they receive one themselves. Swears fill the air, accompanied by angry shouts of pain and rage as they battle it out. 

Vasquez, for all that he’s had his fair share of fights before, doesn’t think he’s ever been in one quite so unfair, but then, it might be his fault for going in alone against five men. Although really, he didn’t have much choice in the matter. 

When he rode into town with Faraday, it was immediately obvious that this place wasn’t exactly friendly. In fact, it looked like a little shit hole in the middle of nowhere, but they had to stop, so there wasn’t any way for them to avoid this town and just move onto the next. Not only could a majority of their supplies use replenishing, but Faraday’s leg had been acting up since early that morning, and despite the Irishman’s best efforts to hide it, Vasquez had taken notice, like always, and insisted they stop for the night when the town shimmered into existence on the horizon. He had made sure to argue that they should stop because he wanted to spend a night in a bed for once, and that he wasn’t sure they would make it to the next town if they didn’t stop to replenish their stocks, but really that could have waited until the next town, and he’s learned to live without a soft bed, in reality it’s all because Faraday desperately needs a chance to rest on something that isn’t hard ground or a horse, and he’s just too stubborn to admit it. 

As much as the gambler would like to think that he doesn’t let his pain show, he has little tells when his leg decides to start aching again; his grip on Jack’s reins tightens, his knuckles gone white from the severity of his grip, he shifts his weight in the saddle, obviously trying to put more of it on his good side so his bad leg has just a bit more space to stretch out, and he talks more. It’s the talking that gives him away, because he suddenly finds a reason to talk about anything and everything, from how extraordinary that particular cactus looks to any number of stories that Vasquez has heard a thousand times by this point. It gets obvious that he’s trying to distract the Mexican from his pain, or maybe just himself, because he ends up grasping as straws for some topic to ceaselessly prattle on about. It’s usually what gives him away first, and then Vasquez takes a closer look at his partner, noticing the tension in his upper body, the way he periodically clenches his jaw as he pauses to take a breath. It never takes more than a second for him to realize that the man riding beside him is trying desperately to hide his pain.

Vasquez believes he understands why the Irishman tries to play it off as nothing, especially when they’re around others, but when it’s just the two of them, it seems rather pointless. All Faraday would have to do is say that he needs a rest, and they would take a break from riding, but instead he tries to suffer through it. The Mexican knows it probably has a lot to do with feeling vulnerable, something along the lines of not wanting to be a burden or let his shortcomings show, because they never talk about it. The topic hasn’t even been brought up since the doctor at Rose Creek told them Faraday’s leg would never be the same, and the Irishman had looked away, refusing to acknowledge anything else the doctor tried to tell him. 

It was hard to shake the apprehensive feeling that settled in his gut as they rode up to the livery stable, the ever present concern about bounty hunters there in the back of his mind like always, but he was more worried about Faraday at that moment. Vasquez had to not only help his partner off Jack, but support him as he hobbled across the street to the saloon, barely able to put his weight on his bad leg. He knows Faraday wouldn’t get so bad if the man could stand to suck up his stubborn pride and ask that they take a break, but he never does, and Vasquez won’t press the matter. If Faraday’s content to let himself quietly endure the pain that’s his business, even if it displeases the Mexican immensely. 

He caught a glimpse of a group of men standing in a nearby alley, watching as they made their way across the thoroughfare, and tried not to pay them much mind, knowing from experience that something as little as the wrong sort of look in their direction could start trouble, which he didn’t particularly need at that moment, not with Faraday’s leg acting up. Vasquez just barely caught bits and pieces of their conversation as he helped his partner along, and it didn’t take long to realize they were talking about him and Faraday. 

Really, he could have endured any jab directed at him, a scathing remark about his heritage or a sneered comment about his mother country, but those men, half hidden in the shadows of the alley, crossed the line when they called his lover a useless cripple. He wasn’t entirely sure if Faraday heard that remark or the ones that followed it, but if the way he tensed slightly was any indication, he certainly did, even though his hearing was a little damaged from the explosion at Rose Creek.

They made their way to the saloon without any confrontation, thankfully. Faraday immediately taking an empty seat with a group of men playing cards. Vasquez was more than content to find a semi-secluded corner for himself where he could watch the rest of the bar, and on the off chance that somebody was looking to make some money off his bounty, be prepared to deal with them.

Between him and his partner, he has the most control over his temper, and he’s nearly mastered keeping it contained, but the comments from those men had anger blossoming in his chest and boiling under his skin. As minutes went by he attempted to calm himself, but the feelings only grew, until he couldn’t take another second of practically seething there in silence by himself. He slipped out of the saloon while Faraday wasn’t paying attention, not quite sure whether he was planning to seek some sort of retribution or just go for a walk to clear his head. 

It just so happened that while he was passing that same alley that the men had been occupying not half an hour before that he stumbled across them, and it didn’t take more than one man opening his mouth to speak that Vasquez decided he hadn’t been in a nice brawl in quite some time, and these pitiful excuses for men deserved his wrath, so he slugged the man across the mouth before the words could even manage escape his lips. 

That’s how he finds himself curled into a ball on the ground, trying to protect his most sensitive parts from some well aimed kicks. Two men are sprawled out in the dirt a few feet away, undoubtedly unconscious, another is still collecting himself, probably preparing to join the other two cursing at Vasquez as their boots connect with his body. 

“You know, that’s my friend you’re kickin’ there,” the words are light, like there isn’t any sort of threat in them, but anyone that knows Faraday better could clearly tell there’s an undercurrent of anger in his voice. 

Vasquez uncurls himself enough to look over at Faraday, who is near the end of the ally, leaning casually against one of the buildings, a lit cigarillo hanging from his mouth, its smoke lazily drifting out of his mouth and curling up into the sky. He has both guns aimed at the men standing around Vasquez. 

Faraday waits a second for some sort of response, before narrowing his eyes dangerously, the distinctive sound the Irishman cocking his guns filling the silence around them. In the next second the men make a hasty exit, the most injured of the three stumbling over one of the unconscious men in his haste to flee. 

The Irishman puts his guns back in their holsters after taking a moment to make sure the men don’t have any plans of returning, inhaling one last long drag from his cigarillo before flicking it to the ground and smashing it with his boot. He isn’t in any hurry to make his way over to Vasquez, bracing a hand on one wall to help him along. His walking isn’t much better, but it has improved a little, Vasquez notes as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, content to stay on the ground for now. 

“Why’d you fight them?” Faraday asks when he stops in front of Vasquez, sinking to his knees with a grunt. 

“They were insulting you,” Vasquez mumbles.

“It didn’t bother me none.” 

He isn’t sure if that’s a lie or not, but it doesn’t much matter. He would have readily taken on a dozen men single handedly on Faraday’s behalf, if only because it makes his blood boil like nothing else can to hear others making fun of the man he loves. People tend to be cruel, and he’s learned to mostly ignore their words, especially the ones directed his way, but when they say such things about Faraday, especially concerning something the man is sensitive about, even if he doesn’t like to admit it, Vasquez can’t keep his hold on his temper. 

Faraday fumbles with the paisley bandana around his own neck, before carefully grasping Vasquez’s chin with one hand to maneuver it this way and that as he tentatively wipes at some of the blood trickling down his face with the bandana in the other, making an expression of sympathetic pain as he cleans off the Mexican. Vasquez lets the man do what he wants, only slight grunts of discomfort escaping his lips when Faraday touches a particularly tender spot. 

“You could have at least asked for help.”

“I was fine.”

Faraday reels back slightly, quirking one disbelieving eyebrow, “sweetheart, you were gettin’ your ass handed to you.” 

Vasquez pulls his face out of his partner’s grip, mumbling, “no estaba,” as he looks off towards the end of the alley. 

The Irishman just lets out a breathy chuckle in response, carefully wiping at Vasquez’s split lip. “Whatever you say, hombre.” 

Vasquez sighs thorough his nose as Faraday continues his ministrations. More often than not their positions are reversed, and the Mexican finds himself tending to his partner’s wounds; he believes he now understands why Faraday hates this sort of attention. When he seems to have cleared off most of the blood, the Irishman looks him over for a moment, before stating, “come on, you need a bath.”

Vasquez opens his mouth, about to protest that he couldn’t possibly be that much dirtier than Faraday, even after practically rolling around on the ground during the fight, but warm water would feel lovely right now, especially on the parts of his body that took a fair amount of beating, and have already started aching, so he snaps his mouth shut instead, smiling at his partner in silent agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> No estaba - was not
> 
> Thank you for reading, comments are always appreciated <3


	8. The Hell You Can't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vas and his necklace (post canon, everybody lives-nobody dies, hurt/comfort? sort of?, idk it could probably be considered a little sad jsyk, and of course some more established relationship because apparently that's all I know how to write)

“Where’d you get this?” Faraday asks absently, toying with the pendant around Vasquez's neck. 

Vasquez lifts his head enough to look down at Faraday, who seems entirely too content laying on top of him, his cheek resting just below the Mexican’s breast as he stares intently at the little piece of metal in his fingers. Vasquez opens his mouth, taking in a breath to speak, but words seem to be failing him, in any language. Instead he lays his head back down on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling, as if it might provide him with the words he’s searching for. 

Where did he get it?

That’s a loaded question if he’s ever heard one, and he isn’t sure how to answer his lover. He’s always had the pendant, since he was nothing more than a baby, and there was never much insight into it’s origins, or his for that matter. The thing was around his neck when he was left on the doorstep of a convent, the only hint to his heritage a poor attempt at an engraving on the otherwise smooth back, simply ‘Vasquez.’ Now it’s almost been worn away, from nearly four decades of running his fingers over the shallow grooves that spell out the only name he’s ever known.

“No lo sé,” he quietly admits after a few moments of silence have stretched between them. 

Faraday looks up so their eyes connect, brow crinkled and the fond lilt of a smile on his lips as he says, “you did it again.” It’s a habit of Vasquez’s, to fall into Spanish when he’s lost in thought or the subject makes him emotional. Somewhere along the line Faraday simplified it to that statement instead of informing him that he’s ‘speakin’ that damn Mexican again.’ Vasquez remembers suggesting that Faraday should try to learn the language so it wouldn’t matter which he spoke in, but one attempt at a lesson proved it was impossible to teach that stubborn man anything, even if he was mostly willing to try to learn. 

“I don’t know,” he repeats, so Joshua can understand. 

“How can you not know somethin’ like that?” 

“I’ve always had it,” he supplies with a slight shrug, to which Joshua simply makes a thoughtful noise, and goes back to examining the pendant. 

Some part of Vasquez has always been curious about it, about where he came from, where his family is, but with a name so common it would be impossible to track down the people that left him at the mercy of a few nuns in a small convent tucked into a hillside. His parents could have been from the closest village, or just passing through, and despite his best efforts so many years ago, he never found them. So, he’ll never know, certainly not now after so much time has passed, and he tries to tell himself he doesn’t care. His entire life he’s wondered if he wasn’t wanted, or if for some reason he just couldn’t be cared for, and the raw emotion that blossoms in his chest at the thought is never all that welcome. It’s probably better not knowing, because the truth is hardly ever as pleasant as fanciful hope tends to make him believe it might be. 

“Hmm, there’s something on the back,” Faraday draws Vasquez out of his thoughts with the observation, and he’s just quick enough to snatch the pendant from his partner before the man has a chance to read it. 

“No es nada.” If his voice wavers, it’s only slightly, and he’s almost positive Joshua doesn’t notice. 

“No, it’s not nada,” Faraday presses, sliding up Vasquez enough that they’re almost face to face. Of course, he would manage to remember what that means, but not something as similarly simple as ‘I don’t know.’ Joshua has to be the most infuriating Irishmen Vasquez has ever met. 

If the other man weren’t on top of him he might try rolling over and burying his face in the pillows, but as it is he’s stopped by a considerable amount of weight named Joshua, so the best he can manage is looking to the right, at the only window in the small room, where the feint light of a cloudy morning is pouring in through a slit in the drapes. Some part of him is hoping Faraday will get the hint and just let it go, but that’s a little too hopeful on his part, because his partner is instantly closer than he was merely a second ago, breath warm on Vasquez’s ear as he speaks. 

“Come on, Vas, you can tell me,” he insists. 

“No.”

“It’s not like you can keep it from me forever,” Joshua tries to reason. 

“Who says you’re going to be around that long?” 

“I am offended, sweetheart, very offended,” Faraday dramatically informs him, before lightly turning Vasquez’s face away from the window, the pressure of his hand on Vasquez’s cheek just insistent enough that he probably wouldn’t be able to resist it if he tried, until he’s nearly forced to looked into the bright emerald of Joshua’s eyes. It’s possible that there’s an undercurrent of hurt in the man’s next words, “you tellin’ me you don’t want me to stick around?”

The Mexican casts his eyes down as he mutters, “no…” 

“Then why won’t you tell me?” His voice is much softer now, his thumb absently stroking through Vasquez’s dark beard. 

It’s not that he has any reason to hide it, the engraving is just his name, which he could easily lie about, but he doesn’t want to do that. It’s just that nobody’s ever asked before, or cared, and now that someone does he isn’t sure he knows how to talk about it, and even then he certainly wouldn’t be able to do it in coherent English, but he wants Joshua to know, would like to share this part of him that’s never seen the light of day, and really, Faraday would only keep insisting until Vasquez tells him anyway, so he decides he might as well try. 

“Vasquez,” he finally admits. 

“You mean it says Vasquez? As in your name Vasquez?” Faraday questions. 

“Sí.”

“And I’m guessin’ you didn’t put it there?” 

“No.” 

Faraday’s brow crinkles as he thinks for a moment, before asking, “well then who did?”

“No lo sé.” 

“Well don’t you know who gave it to you?” 

“No.” 

“Sweetheart, it’s hard to have a conversation with you when all you keep sayin’ is no.”

“Soy un huérfano…” It feels so wrong for those words to come from his own lips, it’s like he’s admitting the truth to himself as much as he is to Joshua. 

“Vas, I don’t-“ 

“Orphan,” the word is choked out of him, and it stings his own ears to hear it. Orphan. Unwanted, alone, discarded, abandoned; left to face the cruelties of the world wrapped in nothing more than a blanket so thin it could barely even be considered as thick as threadbare. 

“You’re an orphan,” it’s a mix between a question and a statement, more like a breathless realization on Faraday’s part. 

“Sí.” He hates the tears that well behind his eyes, and no matter how he tries to blink them away they don’t seem to want to leave. 

“So then it was with you when you were, uh…” 

“Abandonado,” he grits out, still desperately trying to quell the tears that are threatening to spill down his cheeks. 

The pity evident on Joshua’s face is simultaneously unwanted and welcome, he both hates and loves that someone cares for him the way his partner clearly does. It’s so good to have someone that seems to care about him so much, and yet a part of him is always afraid that he’ll be the reason harm comes to Joshua… 

“Did you ever try to look for them? Your family, I mean.” 

“No, lo intenté.” He catches himself, and immediately corrects, “I tried…” although his accent is so thick it must be almost impossible for Joshua to understand him. 

As soon as he was old enough he had left the convent, hoping beyond hope to find his family in the nearest town, but there were very few people willing to entertain a naive orphan searching for the people that abandoned him. Those that did listen to his questions couldn’t offer him the answers he was seeking; he was sent from house to house, each time a door was slammed in his face his heart breaking a little more. He refused to lose hope though, expanding his search further each time he came back empty handed, but in the end it was nothing more than a fruitless search for people that could very well have already been dead. 

“I just wish I had a family,” he quietly confesses. His entire life it’s all he’s wanted, and the only thing he can never hope to find.

“You do have a family.” 

Vas quirks an eyebrow as he questions, “What do you mean?” 

“We’re your family, me and the other five-” Joshua tries to assure him, before Vasquez cuts him off. 

“That doesn’t count.” 

“How doesn’t it?” Faraday insists. 

“You’re not _real_ family, not blood.” He shakes his head as he sighs, ”you can’t pick family.” 

“The hell you can’t. Just because you picked ‘em don’t mean they aren’t just as good as a family with the same blood runnin’ through their veins. This sort of family’s better even, there’s nothing that makes us stay together, we just want to. And we sure as shit won’t abandon you… I know I won’t.” The insistency in Joshua’s words, the promise to never leave him, makes Vasquez’s chest fill with so much emotion it’s nearly suffocating. 

A stray tear makes a slow trail down one cheek, which his partner easily swipes away, before placing a soft kiss to the spot. Faraday’s other hand comes up to rest on his cheek, so there’s one on either side of his face, cradling him. Joshua presses another to the same spot on his other cheek. There’s a soft press of lips against his forehead, one to the tip of his nose, on each corner of his mouth, the lightest brush of a kiss to an eyelid, which had closed of it’s own accord at some point, a matching one on the other; all over, reverent presses of love against his skin, and he can’t help but let out a shaky breath as his partner continues. 

When Joshua stops the onslaught of kisses Vasquez opens his eyes, lashes wet, to find a small fond smile on the Irishman’s mouth. He surges up, connecting their lips to say thank you while words are failing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading and I'd love you know what you think! <3


	9. Maybe It's Been There All Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faraday considers how important the other seven are to him, especially one man in particular (post canon, everybody lives-nobody dies)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't managed to really write anything for a while now, so I hope this isn't too horrible. 
> 
> Also, I'd like to thank all of the wonderful people that have left comments on the previous chapters. You're all very lovely and I will hopefully get around to answering the comments I've been neglecting.

It never really occurs to him until one night, completely out of the blue, when they’re all camped out under the wide open sky, a blanket of twinkling stars above their heads and a fair sized fire crackling in the middle of their site. They're at least a week from the nearest town, and heading to nowhere in particular, just wandering along and doing whatever strikes their fancy. 

Faraday takes a short break from lovingly polishing his guns, looking up from his lap and taking in the group of men around him. Vasquez is across the fire, casually leaning against a large chunk of rock as he talks with Chisolm. Goodnight and Billy have already retired to their bedrolls, although Faraday’s pretty certain they're talking quietly together, and haven’t yet gone to sleep. Horne has been soundly snoring for a good half hour by now, seated roughly two feet away from Chisolm, and Red is god knows where, but most likely just beyond the light cast by the fire. 

It’s all familiar by now, months out from their initial meeting and the battle for the little town of Rose Creek. There’s nothing unusual going on, not a single abnormal thing about anything around him. There’s certainly nothing that jumps out and points to what he’s now realizing, he must have just suddenly noticed it, he supposes.

After only a few measly months, these people around him have become a bigger part of his life than he could ever have guessed, some more so than others. They've become something of a permanent fixture in his life, and one that he wouldn't give up lightly. 

When he first met them, he never would have figured that even after nearly blowing himself up to save not only them, but the remaining citizens of the town, that he’d be traveling with the group of men indefinitely. In the very beginning, he’d half expected to have a little adventure and then be on his merry way with a few extra dollars for his trouble, but that’s proved to be far from the truth. If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t know that he’d be able to live alone again after his time with these people he’s come to know so well, who he trusts to have his back when trouble arises.

Although now that he thinks about it, Vasquez is almost always the person right beside him in a fight, or right behind him more like. The amount of times they’ve wound up back to back is countless by now. It’s become a lot more fluid since that very first fight together, back when they were still trying to size each other up. Now they have something of a little language going between them, in nods and movements, a way to communicate when gunshots fill the air and verbal conversation is nigh on impossible. With the tilt of a head, they can easily slide in back to back and face down any number of men that dare fight them; with a series of nods and few hand motions, they can discuss the best way to ambush people holed up in a building.

It’s not something they really spent time working out, it just naturally came occurred, like many other things between them. They’ve come to know each other so well that by now their interactions are almost second nature.

Of course, there are still the good natured jibes and occasionally a harmless prank or two, but there’s also the unspoken acknowledgement that no matter what, no matter how intense the fight or how low their odds of making it out alive, they’ll always have each other’s backs. They’d probably die for each other if it came down to it, and that’s certainly something to think about.

Sure, Faraday would put up a good fight to help one of the others, but for Vasquez? Well, it’s not even a question anymore. Somewhere along the line he went from just keeping an eye out for his companion to making sure he’s there at Vasquez’s side, no matter what.

He’s not sure why exactly it came to be this way, or when they changed from barely knowing each other to being this incredibly close. Perhaps it’s because they just naturally seem to fit together. Or maybe because at some point they got paired together for a job and it simply happened to stick. Not that the particulars are really all that important, he just knows he can’t imagine his life without Vasquez now, without his white horse riding alongside Jack, or his bedroll laid out beside Faraday's. He certainly couldn’t go on without that familiar smile and laugh, those dark eyes that seem to twinkle with mischief and adventure.

Faraday’s a gambling man, and he’s gambled almost everything away in the past, even his beloved horse, but never, not in a million years, could he imagine gambling away this friendship, no matter the bet or the odds. And that’s saying something, isn’t it? He’ll gamble with his life, with nearly everything he holds dear, his only possessions in the entire world, but never anything where Vasquez is concerned. Faraday’s not sure he's ever felt that way before, about anything. 

It’s a little scary to think about it, to admit to himself that he’s come to rely on somebody so much, but it is the truth, and there’s no running away from it. In the time he’s know Vasquez, they’ve almost instantaneously developed a close friendship, but to put a defining word to it now? Well, it feels like so much more. This thing between them has to be so much deeper than just the bond between one friend and another, and yet Faraday isn’t sure he’s got a word for it. Although, he doesn’t need a label to know that it’s important, more important to him than anything has been in a long while, and that’s all that really matters.

At the back of his mind, there’s a little word that keeps demanding to be acknowledged, a four-letter word that carries a lot of punch. He hasn’t felt that way in, well... ever, possibly. He hasn’t said it aloud to someone and actually meant it since he was little and getting a kiss goodnight from his momma. He doesn’t dare think that word would apply in this case, to Vasquez, but deep down he knows it might just be the perfect fit.

Maybe one day he’ll bring it up, when he’s so shitfaced he has no control over what words tumble out of his mouth, but for now those thoughts are going to stay firmly locked away. Besides, he can see Vasquez watching him now from across the fire, finishing up his conversation with Chisolm and offering the older man a nod and small smile before he makes his way back over to Faraday.

For any man that doesn’t know Vasquez so well, it would be easy to miss the concern hiding behind his nearly impeccable poker face, but Faraday can easily see it, even if he choses to ignore it. Vasquez plops down on the ground beside him with a grunt, brushing their shoulders together as he shifts into a comfortable position. They don’t say anything at first, which isn’t unusual, but perhaps it’s because Faraday’s just realized that he may or may not be in love with his closest friend that he feels a slight tension crackling in the air between them. 

“Something wrong, güerito?” Vasquez asks, after what could be whole minutes, or possibly mere moments; Faraday’s too lost on a sea of thoughts to know the difference right now. 

It takes him a second to collect himself and the whirlwind of realization twirling through his mind. He considers, for the slightest of moments, blurting out what he was just thinking, but that could have potentially disastrous consequences. Instead, he goes for simply replying, “nah, I was just thinkin’.”

Vasquez looks down at him, eyes narrowing slightly as he searches Faraday’s face, probably looking for some indication that he might be lying. In the end, Vasquez only remarks, “don’t think too hard, you might hurt yourself,” a grin playing on his lips. 

“Very funny,” Faraday grouses, nudging Vasquez with his shoulder a little harder than is probably necessary.

They sit in companionable silence after the short exchange, just watching the fire burning a few feet in front of them. Wordlessly, a hand connects with Faraday's knee, squeezing reassuringly once or twice before resting there, almost as if it belongs right in that spot. 

Faraday looks between the hand and the man it belongs to, regarding them both as his mind returns to all those thoughts that were going through his head not a moment ago. The thing is, this isn’t unusual for them: a reassuring touch, the brush of their shoulders, any number of casual touches throughout the day. It’s all familiar, almost achingly so. 

...Perhaps love is the right word for this. Maybe the feeling developed as time went by, without his knowledge or consent; or maybe, it's been there all along, and he just never noticed it until now. As his own hand moves to cover the one resting on his knee, he thinks: whatever the case may be, he wouldn't give this up for the world.


End file.
